Suicide and Crisis Hotline, How May I Help You?
by linamallette
Summary: AU: Santana never met Brittany, never joined Glee Club, and consequently, never came out of the closet. After being strangled in a web of lies for so many years, she finds herself feelings like there's no place to go. In her last attempt for hope, she phones a suicide hotline.


**Author's Note: I was planning on posting this during the holidays because it would have been more relevant, but unfortunately, it didn't happen. So, here it is now! I hope you guys enjoy. **

It was a cold wintery night in Ohio. December 24, to be exact. Christmas Eve. The wind howled and the snow danced in a fury. A storm was coming, the wish of a white Christmas soon to be true. The streets were quiet. A lone car would pass every while, Christmas music and laughter streaming out of the passing vehicle. The passengers were probably coming from a Christmas party or church service. Everyone's eyes were bright.

Amidst the Christmas cheer, a sole figure stood on the Fifth Street Bridge. The vehicles passed without notice, as the hooded figure stood, contemplatively watching over the waves of the Great Miami River. No one stopped because it was Christmas Eve and there were presents to wrap, family to see, and turkeys to baste. One person on a bridge wasn't as bright or exciting as the Christmas lights sparkling from upcoming houses.

The silhouette shifted, head dropping low. Brown hair escaped from the hooded figure, fanning across her tanned face. Her face was hidden from the world.

A small sob escaped her lips, but was hidden by the wailing wind and the angry waves. It was Christmas Eve and yet she was there. Shivering, sobbing, in the freezing December air.

She had thought things were going to be better. That was what all the celebrities were saying. She had been thinking that for the last three years. At the least the holidays would be merry and bright, she had assumed. There was no school, no responsibilities.

But as always, her hopes were squashed. So, here she stood, a beauty of seventeen years old, captain of the Cheerios, homecoming queen of 2011, and girlfriend of the quarterback, yet ready to leave her life. No, not her life, she was ready to leave the pretend life that she had formed.

Her fingers danced to a sorrowful melody as they trailed across the icy railing of the Fifth Street Bridge. She was here, ready to end it all. But she had been standing in that exact spot for two hours. She thought she could do it, but could she? She had never had enough strength to be herself, how could she throw herself off a bridge? She was scared. But she wasn't. She was ready. But she wasn't. She was already dead. But she wasn't.

She didn't know what to do. Where to go.

She had saw advertisements and commercials on TV saying there were places to call. There were always listening ears. She had always scoffed at it. What could that one person say to fix everything? Nothing.

Yet, the number was written on her palm.

She looked down at it, squinting in the darkened night. She could barely make out the number. Should she? What else could she do?

It took seconds to dial the numbers, but as the dial tone became to ring, her whole body froze and it seemed as if it had been hours before a gentle voice escaped her phone receiver.

"Ohio suicide and crisis hotline, how may I help you?"

The girl gripped the pole in front of her and took a deep breath, "I think I want to kill myself."

"Are you in a safe place?" the woman asked her.

She let out a laugh, one which lacked humour and emotion. "I'm standing on a bridge," she replied. What scared her more than being on the bridge, or having these thoughts, was that her voice sounded so void of emotion. She didn't sound alive at all. Because what was worse, having the choice to live or die – like she had as she stood on the bridge – or to have it ripped away from you in a slow, cruel manner as you 'lived' life, then all of a sudden realize its been stolen from you by every malicious comment and judgemental slur?

"All right, could you move away from the bridge so we could talk? I want to know you're safe." The voice instructed her. The voice coming through her receiver wasn't the voice she would have expected. She was kind of thinking it would sound like a therapist or a preacher. It didn't though. The voice was warm, young and personable.

She hesitated, "I don't know." She was staring down at the water, hypnotized by the rhythm of its waves. It was inviting. She knew once she hit those dark blue waves, she would have relief from it all. Even the natural world was conspiring for her death. She didn't know what would happen if she backed away from it now.

"You stretched out your hand for help when you called here, I just want you to have that opportunity to receive it. It'll be hard to listen rationally if you staring into the face of death," the woman on the other line said.

She tore her eyes off of the waves for a moment to ponder the woman's comment. _What if there was something I was missing in life and she could show me? But what if she was bull shitting me and trying to stall so they could track my phone and find me? _

She took the chance, though. What did she have to lose?

She walked numbly to the end of the bridge and sat upon a bench. There was a park beside the bridge. It was squeaking as the wind blew its rusty counterparts. Alone, just like her, she thought torpidly.

"I'm at a park now," she said.

"Good. Do you mind if I ask your name?" the voice sounded like it had lost weight. It sounded softer and less tense now. Like she cared about the caller's safety.

She stalled, but reminded herself once more, _what does she have to lose?_

"Santana."

"Santana then. I'm Brittany," the woman – Brittany replied kindly.

She paused a moment, probably waiting for Santana to reply, but Santana didn't know what to say.

"What brought you to that bridge tonight, Santana?" the gentle voiced asked her.

Santana snorted bitterly at the air. Where could she start? But then with a moment of thought the sarcastic thought became a reality. Where could she start? When a person bottles something up for so long, they start to forget how to unscrew the lid that held it all down. They begin to forget what exactly had started that bottle.

"I don't know where to start," Santana spoke honestly.

Brittany hummed. It wasn't the sort of hum a person gives out of impatience and frustration – as her mom did frequently – but a soft noise made from quiet thought. "Were you alone this Christmas?"

"Technically, yes, but I am supposed to be staying at my friend's— someone's s house for the holidays," Santana said. She was sure Quinn wasn't missing her at her Christmas Bash. She was probably in bed with Puckerman at the moment, though she'd deny it in the morning. She wouldn't be denying it for long if it turned out like the last time: preggo-Quinn.

"Why did you switch it from friend to someone?"

"Because I'm trying to be honest," Santana answered.

"You find yourself having to lie a lot?" Brittany wondered. Santana wondered if she'd just make a question out of every statement she made. Honestly, she didn't mind though. Maybe getting it all out would help. Or maybe it would be one last rant.

"Let's just say, basically everything that has come out of my mouth for the last year has been a lie," she said. She lay back on the bench, pressing herself into the cool wooden planks. The snow was landing gently on her face. The cold skin reminded her that she was still alive.

"Why do you feel the need to lie?"

"Because no one likes the truth," Santana answered easily. She had convinced herself of this along time ago.

"Do you care what people think?" Brittany inquired.

Santana sighed, "Do you?"

"Yeah, I do. But I've decided that some people don't deserve for me to care what they think anymore," Brittany answered thoughtfully. "Why can you tell me the truth?" She jumped right back onto the question train.

"You don't know me," Santana said.

"If you're lying to everyone else, then they don't know you either," Brittany said slowly, uncertain. She sounded as if she didn't know if she had overstepped her boundaries.

Santana laughed, "I guess you're right. But they are the people who have the power to make my life a living hell."

Again, Brittany hummed. This time it was gloomy hum but one which held compassion and empathy. "Who are those people?"

"The cheerleaders at school...and my parents," Santana whispered. She didn't know if Brittany could hear her. The wind was louder than her whisper.

She wished her mind would rest for a moment so she could talk through this. All she could think of was the nature around her though. The way the wind wouldn't stop shouting at her. The snow kept raining on her, freezing her. The gently rush of the waves from not even thirty feet away. She didn't know if everything was telling her to leave or stay. Some people said nature connected with the mind. Maybe it was just mourning with her.

"Would you mind telling me about them?" Brittany asked.

Santana's mind was swirling and she sat up. "You know how everyone wishes for the perfect high school experience? Every girl wishes to be the head cheerleader, be on the top of the social ladder, and maybe even be lucky enough to date the captain of the football team?" Santana asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, that's what I have, Brittany. In high school, I am the equivalent to Bill Gates, I got it all. Everyone wants to be me. Everybody wishes that they could take my place. Everyone wants me to fall so that they can swoop in and steal it all," She ranted. Her empty hand fisted and she felt her throat closing.

"Is that why you're upset? Because everyone in against you?"

Santana coughed, trying to rid herself of the emotion welling. "No," she whispered. "It's because I don't want to be me."

"You don't like being the one who can have it all?" Brittany pondered, but Santana could hear the understanding behind Brittany's voice. Brittany was acting out of practice while Santana knew in her mind she knew exactly what Santana was talking about. It made Santana open up.

"'Having it all'? It's funny that people think that but once they gain it, they'll realize it is nothing. None of it even matters. Sure, you go to parties. You can maybe get a scholarship. Maybe even meet a nice guy. But what is it all going to matter when I walk up to that podium in five months to accept my diploma? All of that is going to be left behind, I'll have nothing. Aren't the important things in life things that last?"

"Maybe your boyfriend will last?" Brittany asked.

Santana was silenced. Her eyes clouded as she stared ahead lifeless. _Maybe your boyfriend will last?_ Her heart squeezed. The disgust and hatred for that secret hidden part of her rose. The shame that plagued her mind every night surfaced. The sadness stabbed at her because she knew that that part of her was never going to go away from her. It was ingrained into her. It was a part of her being. The whole problem with this whole scenario was that Santana's fear was that the relationship with her boyfriend would last.

She hated herself because it made her sound insane. She had a good boyfriend. Sam was a great guy. Yet, some part inside of her – a huge part – despised him. Whenever he touched her, her skin crawled and a voice in her head would say "Is that really what you want?" Whenever she uttered those three sacred words, the voice would sneak in and whisper "I know you really don't." She hated that voice.

She hated it because she knew it was her heart.

A dark blue Honda Civic slowed on the road parallel to the bench, bringing Santana out of her thoughts. She sat up straighter and wiped away the stray tears off her freezing cheeks. The car rolled leisurely, crunching little rocks under its wheels. It stalled a moment, then, after seeing Santana, hurried off down the road.

Santana's heart fell. She didn't know why she cared, but it felt like it meant something that a stranger didn't think she was good enough to stop for. She knew she was being silly, but none of it felt funny.

"Is it possible to live without a heart?" Santana asked Brittany.

"It depends what definition of living you're talking about, I guess. I don't believe you truly live without letting your heart be your heart."

"What's the point of a life without love..." Santana's voice trailed off because it felt like she had suddenly answered the questioned she had been waiting for.

"Santana," Brittany said, more abruptly and less contained than she had been the entire conversation. She sensed the shift in Santana's voice. She sensed the conclusion she had come to.

Santana's black-leather boots crunched the snow beneath her feet. Her mind wasn't thinking anymore. She had turned it off. She let her feet lead her where she had to go. The cold wind brushed away any remaining tears. The melody of mourning rose from the near waves.

"Life is worth living, Santana," Brittany sounded out of breath. "Love will come to you. It might not be now, but you are going to give up any chance of having it if you leave now."

"Santana. Santana, love is worth the wait. Every harsh word, every nasty glare or snarky look, every time you or someone else told you that you weren't good enough, or you aren't what you should be, will be washed away. None of it will matter. Love will strip away the lies, the ones you've told yourself and told others," Brittany voice was breaking. It wasn't professional, but it was her first day. She didn't want Santana to die. She wasn't another suicidal caller to her, she was a scared girl who was about to give up the fight. The fight Brittany knew would be worth in the end. She could feel it deep within her soul. Santana would have a good life, a _great_ life.

The world was silent as Santana's hands gripped the familiar cold metal railing. She took a deep breath of the icy air, feeling the moist air fill her lungs.

_A life without love isn't worth living_, the wind whispered into her ears. She eyes closed involuntarily.

"I like girls. I have never loved boys. I never will," Santana confessed to the world. Her last words would reveal the girl she had been hiding so long. "I never cared about being a cheerio. I never cared about being the captain. I didn't want to date Sam. I know. I am certain I will not be stuck in this lie any longer."

She took a long, deep breath in. Her fingers released the pressure on the phone dropping it. "I have the power to control my life. I don't want it any longer," she proclaimed. But her words weren't ones of power as she longed for them to be – it was her moment of self-proclamation and power, but she had none.

Her breath was shallow, "I just...don't want this any longer."

Cars honked, Christmas music blasted, people celebrated. No one noticed the lone girl on the bridge use all the might she had left in my numb body and pushed herself over the railing of the Fifth Street Bridge.

In three seconds it took her to push, she felt nothing.

Then she felt everything. She felt it all.

In the first second, the last breath of hope was released from her body. She had accepted that this was it. Her fate. Her life.

The second moment was relief. The pain, the judgement, the expectations and disappoints were gone.

Then, finally, in the third moment, it was panic. She saw her dreams of a home in Las Angeles. She saw the dark silhouette of her wife, a tall blonde beautiful woman, holding their child. Their daughter. She was a brunette like Santana, but she had her wife's big blue eyes. Eyes that giggled and sent hope to anyone who looked upon them. Her name was Sugar and she was a fireball just like her mama, but she also was a sweetheart and a flawless dancer like her mommy.

Santana saw the 'could have been's, the 'what if's. The stories she had imagined every night when the world was quiet and no one could attack her. The imaginary world that she had created to keep her sane in the world she was really living in.

In the last moment, Santana realized she had not given up on the pain, but she had given up on the future she could have – she would have had.

When her last hope was released, given to the wind to take it where it would, but in her last moment, a new hope grabbed onto her.

In a moment, arms mightier than her own had ripped her away from the top of the metal fence. Santana was whipped around and shoved hard into a warm surface.

Her eyes were still shut as she breathed in deeply. She wasn't sure what had happened. Was she saved or was she dead? She wondered.

She was afraid to look because she didn't want the warmth to go away. She hadn't felt so...safe in a long time.

The world – or the afterlife – was silent. She could only hear the thump of something near to her. A racing hammering noise. She counted the beats, hypnotized by its calming effect. It was like Morse code, sending an encrypted message to her. Santana longed to know what it was.

As if the world had heard her thought, she was pulled away from the warm surface. The force of the cold wind sent Santana's eyes to open wildly, uncertain and scared of what was about to happen. She didn't want to leave this place. Life or death.

Her breath stalled when she saw the face of the woman in her vision of the future. Her blonde hair with beautiful ocean blue eyes was standing in front of her and right then Santana was sure she was in heaven. Heaven was supposed to be a place of happiness, right?

But what had she done to deserve getting here?

Her future wife was pale and panting. Her eyes were opening wider than they should have been and her hands grasped Santana's shoulders.

"You are not leaving this place until you know how wonderful it is," she promised me.

All I did was nod because my heart was speaking for me. It whispered in the voice I had always despised, "Don't worry. You are going to be so happy, Santana."

With the blessing of her heart and the promise from those big blue eyes in front of her, she decided to take that chance. Fight the war. What did she have to lose?

**Author's Note: Hope you guys all enjoyed! Drop me a review so I know what you think. **

**Also, on a side note, things do get tough during the holidays, if you are suicidal thoughts or feelings, don't let them take you over. This is only one battle in life. It's temporary. There are better things to come. If you need to talk, send me a message. **_**Remember you are not alone**_**. The great thing about the Fanfiction is the community. Sometimes it gets messy, but the truth is Fanfiction is full of listening ears and so many people who understand. **

**If you want someone else, there are plenty of numbers to call. It won't be Brittany, but it will be someone who cares. **

Depression Hotline:** 1-630-482-9696**

Suicide Hotline:** 1-800-784-8433**

LifeLine:** 1-800-273-8255**

Trevor Project:** 1-866-488-7386**

Sexuality Support:** 1-800-246-7743**

Eating Disorders Hotline:** 1-847-831-3438**

Rape and Sexual Assault:** 1-800-656-4673**

Grief Support:** 1-650-321-5272**

Runaway:** 1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-4000**

Exhale:After Abortion Hotline/Pro-Voice:** 1-866-4394253**


End file.
